


You're not seeing the bigger picture, Derek.

by sssssssim



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sssssssim/pseuds/sssssssim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about Stiles, Derek thought, the thing that ruined the way Derek looked at the other boy, was the wolf’s inability to look at the bigger picture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're not seeing the bigger picture, Derek.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halewinchester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halewinchester/gifts).



The thing about Stiles, Derek thought, the thing that ruined the way Derek looked at the other boy, was the wolf’s inability to look at the bigger picture.

You’ve always had this thing, this problem. Because it was a problem, and it had caused some problems in the past. You still remember one night, when you were studying for an English test with Laura. The two of you ended up fighting and screaming at each other, because you weren’t able to read the notes on Romeo and Juliet, you were stuck at finding a reason why the two families were enemies. You spent hours looking through every book you could find, and when Laura found you and tried to tell you that it didn’t matter, it was not relevant information to the plot of the story, you still kept searching and arguing with her. _You’re not seeing the bigger picture, Derek_ , she huffed, frustrated. _It’s a tragic love story, not a thriller, for fuck’s sake. It doesn’t matter_. You argued for hours with your sister, well in the night. Of course you didn’t reach a conclusion, you were both stubborn enough to not want to make a compromise. You did get an A on that test, but at the end of the essay, you wrote a PS, asking the teacher for more information about the history of the two families. You never got an answer back.

And now, the words 'you’re not seeing the bigger picture' ring in your head every time Stiles is in your apartment. Which is a lot, ever since Scott accepted you back and you agreed to help him and his pack. It feels like a pack, sometimes. You think you might accept being Scott’s beta. But you won’t do that, because having an Alpha that isn’t family seems wrong. But you did make a promise, to yourself, to Cora and to the grave that holds your family, you will help Scott in every way that you can. Even if that meant having Stiles constantly next to you, distracting you and arguing with you till the point of no return, till you’ve lost all your sanity. Or so it feels.

 _You’re not seeing the bigger picture, Derek_. If you would, you would see Stiles as an energetic teenage boy, moving too fast and always talking with his hands. You’d see a boy who has grown up far too early and far too quickly, a man in the making. A guy whose soul is stained with loss and grief, marked with years of panic and fright. A funny, young highschool boy, who uses his sarcasm and wits as a defense mechanism, but who cares so much, and who is not afraid of showing it. A horny teenage boy, who puts gel in his hair and hides his muscles under layers and layers of clothes.

But you can’t see him like that, because You’re not seeing the bigger picture, Derek. You’re only seeing the details.

You’re seeing Stiles’ hair, a wild mess that seems chaotic, but you know it’s more of a controlled mess, judging by the amount of gel used. It smells like lemons and you want to burry your nose in it, just once, to get the scent right.

You’re seeing Stiles’ eyes, the color of the whiskey your father used to drink. Sometimes, when it’s dark and you have to flash your eyes in order to see, you think Stiles’ eyes spark gold. And that makes you think about Stiles as a wolf, but you quickly throw that thought away, because you know that it’s not his wish.

You’re seeing Stiles’ lips, and you keep imagining them on Cora’s lips, giving her air, breathing in her, giving her life. And you thank the gods for their existence. You’re seeing Stiles’ lips talking quickly, words you can’t keep up with, while he brainstorms with Lydia. You see Stiles’ curiosity and frustration escape through them, and you can’t help but think how his lips would feel on your own. How his teeth would feel, sunken in the flesh of your lips, making your breath stop for a few seconds. How your teeth would feel with his tongue between them, making your heartbeat speed up for a few seconds.

You’re seeing Stiles’ neck, and a shiver runs down your spine. Because Stiles is breakable. He could get hurt, so, so easily. It would only take a clawed finger, ran over the skin exposed above his t-shirt neck line. But Stiles’ neck is a proof of live. You look at the veins that stand out when he turns his head just so, you see his pulse point and you can’t help but think about falling asleep with your mouth there. Feeling his life on your lips, and tasting his skin all night.

You’re seeing Stiles’ body, and you can’t help, you instantly remember the way it was pressed to yours. You were paralyzed the times it happened, you couldn’t feel anything, but you knew it was there. You were pressed chest to chest and breathing the same air. And the first time, the only thing you could feel was his breath on your face. And it gave you some comfort in the pool, little as it was.

You’re seeing Stiles’ legs, and you think of how many miles he ran in this town, running to save somebody, running to help, always, always running to help, even if he was putting himself in danger. You think of those long, lean legs, pressing into your thighs. You think of Stiles straddling you on the couch, and you think of Stiles straddling you on your bed.  You think of his muscles pinning you down and your breath leaving you. You think of your hands on Stiles’ legs, gently touching the skin and leaving goose bumps in their wake, while your face is pressed between them, breathing in the scent you’re longing for.

You’re seeing Stiles’ hands and you can’t help but stare. They’re always moving, fidgeting, radiating energy and you know he’s not even aware that he’s doing it most of the time. You’re seeing Stiles’ hands and you’re remembering how they felt on your skin. Punching and slapping you back to life, lifting you up from the dirt, grounding you and comforting you after Boyd’s death, while your own hands were still covered in his blood. You’re looking at Stiles’ hands and you think of them running down your body, exploring and making your skin tingle. You think of those long fingers running through your hair, pulling it and making you gasp. You think of the comfort they give, of the comfort they’ve always given you, and you think of the pain they could cause, his nails scratching your back, the pleasure they could make you feel.

You’re seeing Stiles’ heart, because he’s always letting it show. Always, when you’re there, Stiles has his heart out in the open, for you to take, for you to comfort. You don’t know why he does it, why he does it for you, but Stiles never lies to you. You’ve asked him things, horrible, terrible things, that you wouldn’t answer, not even under torture. But he did, he told you, in the privacy of your apartment, Stiles always answered, no matter how much it hurt him to talk about his mother, no matter how much it hurt him to admit that he and Scott are drifting apart, no matter how much it scared him to talk about his father, about how he needs to take care of him. He always answered you. Always. And you couldn’t do anything, more often than not, you just stood there, staring at this boy, this man, so impossible and so insane. And you couldn’t help but connect your heart to his. You couldn’t help the way they started beating in sink, together. And you couldn’t help but think about him, by your side, in every way possible.

And now, you’re on your couch, and he’s drinking hot chocolate, from your favorite mug, just like he always does. And you’re all alone in the apartment, and you’re not even sure what movie you’re watching, and it’s well past midnight, but he’s still here. And his feet are on your coffee table, and he’s wearing ridiculous pink striped socks. And you’re just looking at him and you don’t understand, you don’t understand why he’s here, why he keeps coming back to you.

You see Stiles turning his head towards you, but you don’t duck your sight, like you always do. You keep looking at him, and he smiles, bending to put his now empty mug on the table, eyes not leaving yours.

‘You alright there, big guy?’, he asks, and his voice echoes in the empty apartment, even if he whispered the words.

You nod and forget all the restraint you’re supposed to have, so you ask him ‘Why are you here?’.

And Stiles just shrugs and waves him arms around for a bit, a movement so normal for him, and he doesn’t even know what it does to your heart beat.

‘I’m here cause I want to. And cause you like it.’

You frown, and he laughs. Then he does something impossible, improbable, unmentionable.

Stiles takes your hand in his, and lays his head on your lap, bringing his feet up on the couch, struggling to fit. When he’s comfortable enough, he brings your joined hands over his chest, and you can feel his warmth and you can feel his heartbeat under your fingertips and it feels right.

‘I love this scene’, he sighs. And you don’t even think, you turn to look at the tv. Minutes later, you realize your other hand is running through his hair and Stiles… Stiles is asleep. You can’t move, and you don’t want to move, even though you should. So you keep sitting there, petting his hair and before you even realize it, you’re asleep too.

And in the morning, when Stiles wakes up before you and makes coffee and pancakes, you think you should say something, but you can’t. And when he kisses you goodbye, when he pushes your back to the wall, when he grabs your t-shirt, when he digs his fingers into your hair and scratches your skin, when he bites your lips and moans into your mouth, when he takes your breath away and makes the whole world around you shake from its core, when he sighs into your neck and when he smiles at you, eyes flashing gold in the dark hallway, you can’t help but think that you need Stiles. You need Stiles to show you the big picture, **_your_** big picture.


End file.
